The Colour Wheel
by memory's marionette
Summary: A collection of drabbles/ ficlets. Black: Defying Gravity. "Do you feel it? That's right, it's the ecstasy of defying gravity." DISCONTINUED
1. Red: Blood Theory

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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><p><em><strong>Red: Blood Theory<strong>_

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><p>"I know why a romantic relationship never did and never will work out between us."<p>

Amber eyes momentarily met a pair of jade orbs. The man's gaze went back to being fixated on a piece of paperwork. "Why, pray tell?" was his only reply.

It had been a trying day for Ian Kabra. People had been annoying him left, right and centre during the whole day. An influx of calls from his company staff had been a constant variable. Piles of paperwork towered like skyscrapers on his desk, his beeper perpetually vibrated every few minutes, and his army of personal assistants frequently appeared in his office. Not to mention that he had had to keep insane lunatics at bay throughout the day.

Why, even the weather was less than pleasant to say the least. Dark clouds filled the normally baby-blue sky like a mob of rabid fashionistas at a Balenciaga sale. The sheer rumble of numerous thunderbolts reverberating through the sky was enough to deter any stalwart soul that dared venture outside. Bolts of lightning kept striking at regular intervals, illuminating the city with bright flashes of effulgence. The rainfall that had started out as nothing but a slight drizzle at first, had transformed into droplets of liquid fury, hammering on every surface exposed to its wrath, akin to an exacerbated goddess with a vendetta.

Needless to say, the day had been far from enjoyable for him. The fact that Amy was here during office hours when he really needed to finish all of his work did not help matters at all. He had no time to listen to her. He had an axiom that labour started could not be halted until it was completed. Thus, there was simply no way he could tear himself away from his current endeavour.

"Our blood types are simply not compatible."

Then again, there are exceptions to every rule.

He stared incredulously at her. "Have you gone mad?"

Amy plopped onto a chair. "Considering that I am not in a straightjacket as we speak, I can honestly admit that no, I have not gone bonkers." She rolled her eyes when a sceptical look etched itself onto his face. "It's a very popular theory in Japan."

He quirked an eyebrow. "My apologies. I had no idea that your ethnicity had undergone a radical transformation."

She scowled slightly at his comment. "It's a cultural thing. Besides, the last time I checked, you don't have to be British to be able to have afternoon tea."

"Point taken." He leaned back in his black-leather chair, his ballpoint pen laying abandoned on his mahogany desk, tossed aside like a piece of litter, forgotten and unwanted. "So what exactly does this 'Blood Theory' of the Japanese encompass?"

"Well, the idea behind it all is that the personality of a person can be predicted from their blood type. For example," she pushed a few tendrils of stray hair out of her eyes. "my blood is of type A. According to the 'Blood Theory', we are generally characterized as being shy people who tend to avoid conflict. We seek harmony and are very polite. Considering that you're very cool and rational, I would categorize you as someone with blood type B. People with blood type B tend to be less than cooperative. They also tend to prioritize their thoughts over their feelings which makes them come off as cold and serious. If a person has type O blood, they're outgoing, social and energetic. They're also extremely self confident. On the other hand, people with AB type blood are very unpredictable as their blood is made up of both type A and type B blood. So their behaviour can be on opposite ends of the spectrum."

He nodded, taking in everything that she had just said. An idea suddenly struck him...he had always wondered whether they actually had any 'chemistry', so to speak, and her explanation had given him a prime opportunity.

He leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips.

Ian watched completely amused, as her skin tone changed into a delightful hue of red. Her mouth was slightly agape, and it was safe to say that more than a few seconds passed before she squeaked out a cry of, "I'll just be going now."

She stood up abruptly and practically ran off like a scared rabbit. "Oh. And Amy?" he called out after her, just as she made it past the doorway. She could very well picture the smirk that was definitely plastered on his face by now. This certainly wasn't a case of seeing is believing. "I'm actually of blood type AB. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm quite sure that according to the 'Blood Theory', people with my blood type are _very _compatible with people of type A blood such as yourself, no?"

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><p>AN: This drabble is around 817 words long. It was actually supposed to be a one-shot, but I've been meaning to start a collection of drabbles since eons ago. I've finally gotten off my lazy bum and started it. So, yay me! Each chapter is based on a colour. Blood is, of course, red, thus the chapter title. This collection isn't limited to only Ian/Amy drabbles though. Other characters will be featured in future drabbles. (I write way too much Ian/Amy anyway. :p)

This idea came about when I heard f(x)'s Nu ABO before watching a scene of the Milky Couple from Dream High, right after revising my Biology notes. I'll be writing a lot this week because I'm participating in an Oxford and Cambridge essay contest. (I want to get in as much practice as possible.) This drabble was supposed to end a little differently with an ending along the lines of 'Tell me that we're not compatible now.', or something to that effect. However, I like this ending better because he debunked her theory. I don't think information about the characters' blood types have been divulged before. I've no idea whether this premise has been done before, but if it has, humor me and review anyway, okay?

As always, tell me what you like, what you hate, what is tolerable and what can be improved. Heck, you can flame me if you want. Just be sure to give me the reason for your hatred towards my story/writing.

Annyeong, chingus!


	2. Black: Hatred

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dedicated to furryraree and flappiedungeon. May God bless your insanity (and mine) and have mercy on us all when SPM comes around. :) That is, if I ever make it through our 'item berfokus' which I have yet to study for. (Die lah! XD)

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><p><em><strong>Black: Hatred<strong>_

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><p>Irina glances at the lady in her line of vision. Her gaze flits about, not knowing where to rest.<p>

_Because between the sight of the female's blood splattered clothes and the gun that is painted red with haemoglobin, Irina does not know where to look._

The woman is desperately trying to scrub off all traces of her previous homicide. Judging from the colour and smell of the vital fluid, the blood is still fresh.

Five minutes pass, and the woman is still furiously washing her hands. The lady reaches for a bottle of a bleaching agent. She violently twists the cap off, throwing it away with enough force to embed it into the walls of plaster. A river of chemicals flows down the female's palms smoothly like a mother's lullaby.

_But it is anything but soothing._

The liquid burns the female's skin, sending bouts of searing pain through her. She reels back in pain and crashes onto the ground. Yet again, the lady psychotically tries to cleanse her hands.

Irina knows that it is in vain. Because judging from the hollow look in the woman's eyes, this is not her first kill.

_Because the lady's hands have been bathed in blood so many times that they are now stained scarlet._

The woman holds up a pair of pliers that she has found from God knows where. Irina closes her eyes. She knows what is coming next.

Silent screams echo throughout the place. The action cannot shatter Irina's eardrums.

_But it can shatter her heart. _

Tentatively, Irina opens one eye to see an extracted fingernail next to the basin of water.

Irina cries as she takes in the sight.

Being in a state of tears is a rare experience for Irina. But she weeps anyway.

_Because she knows what it is like to hate one's own self._

She knows what it feels like to be a monster.

_She also knows that monsters like the woman should be held in contempt._

That is the exact reason why Irina grins as she sobs; happily letting the bittersweet fluid that her eyes have just produced wet every single one of her facial features.

_Because the monster in front of her deserves every single kind of torture anyone can put her through._

Irina stops feeling joyfully sorrowful after a while. Hatred consumes her very being as she remembers the devil in human form that lies before her very eyes. And as she glares with hatred at the inhumane creature, Irina lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

_Because there is no other woman. _

Irina throws the pair of pliers at the mirror that bears the image of her reflection, shattering it.

_Because that woman is her._

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><p>AN: This drabble is really short; it's only about 458 words. This is somewhat of a continuation of Russian Roulette. It's based on how I felt after being diagnosed with a medical condition years ago. I actually avoided mirrors for quite some time. Thank God I grew out of that stage. :)

As always, tell me what you like, what you hate, what can be improved and what silly mistakes I've made.

Ja ne, tomodachis!


	3. Green: Pants

_**Green: Pants**_

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><p>Dan sighed as Natalie dragged him to yet another fashion house. This particular store would be the tenth one she had taken him to today.<p>

It was safe to say that although Dan was still physically fit after hours of keeping up with Natalie's _frightening_ shopping habits, his sanity was not doing too well. Frankly, he had no idea whether his mental health still existed after listening to Natalie shriek, "Oh my Gucci!"

Over a hundred times.

And yes, he _counted_.

Just because their siblings had a meeting with Uncle Alistair did not mean that they could just dump Natalie and him together. The worst part was that Ian and Amy actually had the nerve to put the thirteen year old female brat in charge.

'_I mean, seriously!_' he thought bitterly. _'It's not like I was going to ask the chauffer to drive the car off a cliff…Okay, so the thought did cross my mind, but I wouldn't actually do it. It would be way cooler to feed her to some flesh-eating beetles. Or mayb-'_

Bonk!

Natalie brought him out of his reverie by bonking him on the head with her fist. Dan's hand instantly flew to rub the sore spot on his head. He took in the sight of the numerous shopping bags in her hands that she promptly shoved towards his chest.

"Let's go," she said in her best authoritarian voice. He just stared blankly at her.

Natalie gave him the evil eye, peeved that she had to repeat herself. "Come, _Dear Daniel_. We have other places to be." She grabbed him by the wrist and practically hauled him away.

He cursed as she pulled him to the store's exit with her insane strength. (He wasn't kidding; this girl was as strong as the Hulk. Just, you know, less green.) This had to be one of the lowest points of his life. He was a ninja lord, for God's sake! Sure, he was a bit too young to be ruling his own province just yet, but he was still pretty awesome. The ninja honour that he so prided himself on was disappearing by the second, vanishing like his classmates did whenever he passed wind during class.

He swore under his breath when his ears picked up the sound of several sales assistants giggling like lunatics as they passed them by.

"It's obvious who wears the pants in _that_ relationship."

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><p>AN: Another short thingamajig; 412 words, to be exact. I received a request from AngelicSpring for a Dan/Natalie one-shot for the colour green. I hope I did okay. :) This was actually a snippet that I had for "You and I". I Just in case you're wondering, green is the colour of honour. This drabble is plotless, so I'm quite happy with leaving it in its pithy state.

I don't really see these two characters getting together. I think that, at best, they might tolerate each other. So this is NOT a prelude to a Dan/Natalie romance. Oh, and the moniker "Dear Daniel" is not a typo. I was referencing Dear Daniel in the Hello Kitty video series. :)

People who are awesome review. :D

Annyeong, chingus!


	4. Grey: Hopelessness

**_Grey: Hopelessness_**

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><p>Darkness engulfs me.<p>

My impaired vision deteriorates with each passing day in this wretched hospital that I now call my home. The doctors tell me that I am going blind.

_As though I cannot figure that out for myself._

_As though what eyesight that had already been taken away from me was not enough.  
><em>

I am surprised that they did not come to give me the news sooner. My eyesight is naught but a pinprick of light now.

_I see nothing._

I am a genius, so I have no doubt that I will be able to pull through this mishap even with the loss of one of my five senses.

_It is the loss of two senses that makes me doubt whether I will ever be able to leave this God-forsaken place with my sanity intact. _

I know for a fact that an infernal morphine tube has been threaded through my back. Those _supposed_ miracle workers say that they are only trying to help ease my pain, but they only add to my suffering.

They are by far the cruelest of all. I have already lost my ability to see.

_And they would take away my ability to feel pain away as well?_

They keep spouting nonsense about not giving up hope. Like a fool, I believe them.

Day by day, I wish fervently for a cure.

_Day by day, I am let down._

If hope is akin to an island, it is certainly disappearing rapidly. In happier times, I might make a jest about global warming.

_But I think that I will never experience happy times again._

Waves of gloom lap against the shore of my island of hope. With each tide, the island is being reduced into nothing more than a jagged piece of rock in the middle of a black, black sea. It will only take one last wave, one that is strong enough, to throw me out to sea and wipe this island off my map.

_I do not have to wait long for it to come._

It arrives, majestic in form. It does not take long before I am adrift at sea after having been tossed about like a rag doll. I try my best to find any piece of determination that I have in me, willing it to resurface in this time of need. As I thrash about maniacally in the middle of the black ocean, I use up the last resource of my hope.

_Nothing can save me now._

Little by little, another part of me submerges. The strong undercurrents of pain and sorrow pull at my body, dragging me down inch by inch. I am flailing about, trying to keep my head above the water, making an effort to not succumb to the feeling of hopelessness. It is to no avail.

_My drowning is inevitable. _

I slip into darkness, descending into the bowels of my own personal hellhole.

Darkness engulfs me.

_I cannot escape it._

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><p>AN: I'm in an angsty mood because of upcoming exams. Ergo, I have produced this really depressing drabble. (Oh, look! Alliteration! :D) This can be considered either a future!fic or AU fic, because Ted's eyesight has gone down the drain completely. The darkness is both literal and metaphorical. This is about 490-500 words. (I know I'm supposed to use an en dash for that, but I can't be bothered at the moment.)

By the way, Furryraree, I don't think I can fulfill your quota of two stories a week for the next few weeks. :( I MUST study. (Before I mempersiasuikan diri. XD) Oh, and the UNSW English Assessment will start at 1 PM on Tuesday, so we'll be missing Accounts... :D

Awesome people review! :D

PS. Thanks to Furryraree for pointing out some mistakes that I had overlooked. Thank you! ^.^


	5. Dark Green: Kiss

Summary: "Because if you are going to kiss me, then by all means, do it right." Vikram/Isabel.

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><p><strong><em>Dark Green: Kiss<em>**

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><p>Isabel Vesper-Hollingsworth,<p>

Lady Margaret Hall,

University of Oxford,

OX4 10QY, Oxford,

England.

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><p>Vikram Kabra,<p>

Trinity College,

University of Oxford,

OX1 6QY , Oxford,

England. 31 OCTOBER 19XX

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><p>Dear Sir,<p>

I wish to discuss the matter of the abrupt kiss that happened yesterday between the two of us.

2. As you are aware of, the kiss took place at approximately three o' clock in the afternoon, with the location being the frequently-used corridor next to Trinity College's courtyard.

3. Considering that I have my doubts about your adulation towards my very entity, I have come to a plausible theory concerning your inappropriate action of abruptly pecking me on the lips. I have made several observations of your behaviour towards myself ever since I enrolled at the University of Oxford, and have concluded that I pose a threat to you. Thus, I have deduced that your actions were in an effort to embarrass me, as well as reaffirm your status as the most influential man on campus.

4. My popularity has sky-rocketed, to say the least, ever since I was first admitted to Lady Margaret Hall. I understand that my high levels of celebrity at this university have very well challenged the abundance of your own. It is only logical that my idolization by fellow students will challenge your status as the university's most esteemed student, the man at the very bottom of the totem pole.

5. I happen to rival yourself in every single course that both of us happen to take, regardless of it being Economics or Business Administration, etcetera, etcetera. It is also a fact that we are both prime candidates for the club presidencies of associations, such as the Oxford University Boat Club and other societies, all of which we both happen to be members of.

6. As aforementioned, you happen to hold the pole position in the food chain of popularity at this university, and I find it perfectly logical that you find me a threat for the top spot in the University of Oxford's hierarchy. It is no secret that your authority is becoming exceedingly unheeded. In the context of power, humans are like bushfires waiting to happen, and the leader of a revolution is the spark that is just lying in wait for the opportune moment to set the forests of people alight. All of the rebels who have refused to follow your rule as the dictator of popularity have sided with me, and vice versa. They expect either one of us to pull off a coup d'etat and dethrone the other. Therefore, I have a proposition for you.

7. I suggest that we both join forces and become a power couple that will be revered by all. By doing so, we will have absolute power at this university. We will also be able to dispose of any future threats to our impending rule at the University of Oxford, and in the world.

8. I hope that you will consider my proposition, and I hope to hear a positive response from you soon.

Potestate futurum,

Isabel

(ISABEL VESPER-HOLLINGSWORTH)

P.S. In the event that you are interested in my offer, I have attached a book for you to read in preparation of our future world dominance, titled "How to Kiss 101".

_Because if you are going to kiss me, then by all means, do it right._

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><p>AN: Yet another idea from "You and I". The snippet was actually the last line. I find their relationship very interesting. They're both very strong-willed and domineering, so I wonder who calls the shots in that particular relationship. Sometimes it might seem that Isabel is in control, yet Vikram might very well be the power behind the throne, the puppeteer that pulls all of the strings. I think this is a plausible theory of how they got together, bonded over their thirst for power.

I used my artistic license for the Oxford postcodes, which are based on the postcode for the Oxford School of Geography, or something to that effect. Dark-green is the colour of ambition, just so you know. Ergo, the theme for this drabble/letter. The reference to the bottom of the totem pole is correct. The least important people were at the top, contrary to popular belief. (The things you can learn from NCIS... :D) "Potestate futurum." I used Google for this, so I've no idea whether it's actually correct...It translates to "the power of the future". The date of the letter is supposed to be further to the right, but the Doc Manager is deranged and won't let me do it. :(

The terrific always leave reviews. :D

Annyeong, chingus!


	6. Yellow: The Slayer

Summary: "High paw?" Buffy/Saladin friendship.

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><p><em><strong>Yellow: The Slayer<strong>_

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><p>"Just look at him blush!"<p>

"Hilarious! I must say that that was some good slaying, Buffy."

"I try."

"Oh, look! The buffoon is pointing at us."

"What's he saying, my furry feline friend?"

"He's shouting that he wants to put us to sleep now and that he'll...torture me horribly by pulling out my whiskers one by one, and chop off our tails..."

"Animal cruelty! The horror! Somebody call PETA now!"

"... He's threatening to sue us and put us on death row. Is he mad? You can't send a cat and dog for execution... Then again, he never did look like the brightest bulb in the box."

"... Hey, he fell flat on his face! He should really consider pursuing a career as a clown. He'd knock it out of the park."

Silence.

"Saladin, what's he saying now?"

"He's blaming us for tripping over his own feet..._again_."

"What? I can't take this anymore. This cretin is just begging to be slayed once more."

Crash!

"Meow! That was even better than the first time! You must be the best Ian Kabra slayer around!"

"It's a tough job, but some dog has to do it."

"High paw?"

"High paw!"

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><p>AN: Yes, I know that this has been done time and time again, but I'm in a cat mood today. And weird. Can't forget the weird.

It's been so long since I've watched Buffy, the vampire slayer. I think that I last saw it when I was eleven, which was more than five years ago.

On another note, I've just found out that what I've been writing aren't drabbles at all! Le gasp! Drabbles are stories in a hundred words or less. So this is, in fact, a collection of...ficlets! My whole life is a lie!

... Ahem. Apologies for the mock drama and the fake French dramatics. I'm feeling really weird today.

As always, tell me what you like/dislike/etc. The awesome always review!

Meow!


	7. Pink: Chemistry

Summary: "Because they had always had that certain je ne sais quoi, and their chemistry has always been off the charts." Ian/Amy.

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><p><em><strong>Pink: Chemistry<strong>_

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><p>A relationship is akin to a chemical reaction. And with every reaction, there are ways to speed up the rate by which the reaction occurs.<p>

The rate of reaction is defined as the amount of a product obtained per a unit of time. In terms of relationships, however, it is the outcome of the said bond within a given period.

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><p><em><span>Factors Affecting the Rate of Reaction:<span>_

1. _Temperature_

Because a good-looking man in a suit is a surefire way of raising the temperature.

Because the first time they met, all she could say was, "H-hi."

~ 愛 ~

2. _Effect of surface area_

Because exposure to each other is always crucial.

"You again?" she blurted out before she could control herself.

~ 愛 ~

3. _Concentration of the reactant_

Because competition is fierce.

"Why do you have so many love letters?" he demanded.

~ 愛 ~

4. _Catalyst_

Because you can always trust a little brother to be annoying and ask inappropriate questions.

"So," Dan started casually, "When are you two getting married?"

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><p>AN: Hello! I'm back with another short thingamajig; 155 words to be exact. I do believe that this is the shortest one yet. I haven't written a story about the Seoulmates(Amian) in a long time. (I don't know. In my opinion, their couple name isn't that great. It's just…meh. You can disagree, of course. Just don't come after me with pitchforks or other weapons of mass destruction.) So I'm making a return foray into chartered waters. Hee. :)

The Doc Manager is deranged (AGAIN!) and won't let me double space between paragraphs. Thus, I have used kanji as a small line break. That is 'ai' or love, for those who are not familiar with kanji. I might use other kanji in the future but I was too lazy to find others at this time, so I just took the most common character. Heh. :)

In other news, my (awesome) friends, furryraree, FlappieDungeon, and I have created a joint account under the nom de plume of 'thewaltzingporkchopchoir' on both fanfiction and fictionpress. Do read our stories and provide us with some feedback. :D (Review, people!... Pretty please with sugar on top? :D)

As always, do leave a review in which you tell me your thoughts. Remember, awesome people always review! :D

Au revoir!


	8. Grey: Name

Summary: "What's in a name?" Ian-centric.

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><p><em><strong>Grey: Name<strong>_

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><p>What's in a name?<p>

_Everything. _

A name is crucial. It summarizes your character, your role - your entire being. After all, no one labels a dog as a cat. You're either a boy or a girl, human or not, one thing or another. It gives hints for you to paint a picture of a person's vibrant, colourful personality; to visualize a whole world based on specific words. Certain names evoke certain feelings, be it fear, bashfulness, beauty, etc, etc. Hitler's given virtue strikes fear in many, while Einstein's inspires thoughts of genius.

But names can _lie._

_And Ian knew this all too well._

Just like this word:

Father.

_What is a father?_

A father is a male parent who is to be a child's protector; a nurturer of a young impressionable character. But above all, a father is a man who is there to love his children.

_But to Ian, 'father' is just another word._

Because the truth is that he has never had a father.

_For they are father and son in name alone._

For Ian never knew love. He does not understand the concept; it is simply something he cannot wrap his mind around.

_What is love?_

Is love what made his father wound him, not physically, but mentally and emotionally? Is that why his father never smiled at him at all? Is love the reason why his father practically shoved him down this path of malevolence?

Is love what people say it is? Is it truly a warm, personal attachment to another as countless dictionaries proclaim? Is it what is shared between family and friends?

_Or is love simply another name?_

Everything in this world has a name.

But what's in a name?

_Nothing._

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><p>AN: I'm depressed, angry and frustrated. (I hate one-mark obstructions. Why don't you just burn me at the stake and be done with it, teacher?)

Review, please.

I'm off to drown myself.


	9. Black: Dance

Summary: Because they dance around each other in more ways than one. Vikram/Isabel.

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><p><em><strong>Black: Dance<strong>_

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><p>She curtsies gracefully as he bows. He extends a hand, inviting her to dance with him. She slides her silk and lace fan open, making her eyes seem even more intense. The man simply gazes coolly back at her, sizing her up as she does him.<p>

She places an elegant, slender hand into his with exquisite agility, exactly as she was taught to do so many years ago. He leads her onto the dancefloor, where they get into position for a stately waltz.

The music soon stops, and the crowd disperses like pollen in the wind. But their gambol is hardly over.

She flips a tendril of her hair, but it is anything but a flirty gesture. The light from the fabulous crystal chandeliers bounce off her diamond earrings magnificently. The message she is sending is clear.

_I have money. _

He gives her a nonchalant look, and his handsome face remains as impassive as ever. She then beckons a servant over with a flourish of her hand, and she cannot help feeling smug as he trips over is feet in an effort to be at her beck and call in record time.

_I have power._

She promptly sends the servant away with a casual tone before turning her attention back to her would-be suitor. Her eyebrows furrow slightly at this sight, for he is simply not bothered by her blatant show of influence. Her annoyance causes her to give him many more unsubtle hints over the course of the hour.

_I have beauty._

_I have intelligence._

_I have charm._

But no matter what she does, his stoic behaviour does not change, and this infuriates her greatly. He has given her no clue on whether he is worthy of being her husband. She is vexed beyond belief, and is about to shout in a manner that will be characteristically unladylike.

_And what have you?_

And finally, he gives her an answer. He smirks at her, and she eventually understands his apathy.

_I have all that you own and all that you want._

**.: Because they dance around each other in more ways than one. :.**

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><p>AN: Just a short thing on what it might it have been like when they met. Black is the colour of authority and power. I chose it because I always think that there is a power struggle in their relationship.

Review, please.

I'll be very busy from now on. I'm not sure. Updates will come sporadically (or maybe not at all for a very long time). I'll be gone until mid-December or maybe even next year due to exams. Or, you know, I may not come back at all.

Goodbye.


	10. Yellow: Fire

_**Yellow: Fire**_

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><p>Flames of scarlet and orange hues danced before his eyes as they licked the room clean. The fumes from the fire suffocated him, making his throat feel as clogged as a storm drain full of sludge.<p>

He dropped onto his knees and crawled sluggishly towards the fire extinguisher. His asthma hindered him, but he knew that he had to be fast in order to rescue her, seeing as that she'd never be able to put out a fire in eons. ("Not a job for the rich." She would probably have sniffed.) In fact, he could already hear her coughing fit from across the room.

He squinted as he tried to gather his bearings, seeing as that his eyes were watering akin to a faulty, leaking faucet. He groped around for the tool of would-be salvation, heaving a sigh of relief as the said object was safely in his hands. Quickly, he made his way to the burning oven, dousing the flames with bubbly froth and foam.

Victorious, he let the empty metal can drop to the floor with a loud '_thunk_'. He then strode over to her, the perpetrator of what he referred to as an attempted (though unintentional) arson. She coughed as he loomed over her with his arms akimbo, knowing full well that she was to blame. She looked at him meekly and guiltily as she mumbled something incoherent.

"What did you just say?" He prods, though he has already deciphered her cryptic mumbling.

"I'm sorry!" She wailed. "I'll never bake cookies again!"

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><p>AN: I wrote this with Dan and Natalie in mind; a Dan and Natalie who are friends. So this is in the future, I guess. Honestly, I haven't read the new book yet, so I've no idea how their characters are now. (Can someone tell me how awesome it is on a scale of one to ten?) I thought Natalie making cookies was a bit weird, but she's not that rich anymore, so _maybe_ she may want to test her culinary skills?

I wrote this at school when I had writer's block, so do excuse this …crap? Nonsensical piece of writing? In truth, I was just scared that my writing had gotten rusty, and someone (You know who you are!) forced me to write.

In conclusion, I am a nutcase who writes weird stuff.

P.S.: I wrote two drabbles this time around, so don't be lazy and review both, please. :)


	11. Scarlet: Bottle

A/N: For furryraree, who enjoys my fluff, though it is really bizarre and bad.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Scarlet: Bottle<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Pretty."<p>

She looked up at him. "What? Me? Noticed it only now, have you?" she joked.

He rolled his eyes in response. "Not you, you narcissist; the bottle."

Her gaze flitted over to the bottle of water that was decorated with intricate designs. "Well, what do you expect?" she asked. "It's pretty like the owner, of course."

"Your egotistical ways never cease to amaze me."

"I'll take that as a compliment. It means that I never fail to entertain."

He scoffed loudly in response, before proceeding to grab the bottle and unscrew the lid. He was just about to take a big gulp to quench his thirst when she interrupted him.

"What are you doing?" she half-shrieked.

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You can't drink from the same bottle as me," she protested.

"And why not?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Because," she blurted, "it's like an indirect kiss if you do! Don't you know this?"

"Ah," he said. "So that's it?" She nodded emphatically, glad that he understood. "I see," he mused.

And then he chugged it all down.

* * *

><p>AN: Another drabble written at school with writer's block. I asked my awesome friend furryraree, who also practically forced me to write the previous drabble, to give me a theme or object. She said 'table', but I refused. (I know I said that there are many things you can do with a table, but seriously?) So then she said bottle. And that's how this aberration came about.

In my mind, this is between Hope and Arthur because not many female characters have this particular personality, and seeing as that their characterization wasn't prominently featured in the books, I can take liberties with it. Plus, I like childish banter like this. :D

The superstition comes from either Japan, Korea, or China, I think. I read it in a manga… somewhere, but cultural beliefs from these countries are basically modified from each other. Like Tanabata and Chuseok.

I'm off to study my physics now. Honestly, I feel like that's all I've been doing lately. Study, study, study.

Poo.

P.S.: Don't forget to review. :)


	12. Red: Simple Arithmetic

A/N: For Flappiedungeon and Furryraree. I wrote this halfway before getting sidetracked by exams a few months back, and only finished it now. I hope you like it. :D

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><p><strong><em>Red: Simple Arithmetic<em>**

* * *

><p>He sighed as he tried his utmost best to not doze off. How in the name of quadratic functions could someone be so boring? Didn't this lecturer know that droning on and on was a very effective sleeping pill?<p>

He wished he didn't have to take this particular course. In fact, he wondered why such a course even existed. After all, who would actually volunteer to learn about Sigmoid growth curves?

Weird people, that's who; people unlike himself whose love for numbers far exceeded his love for apical meristems and such. Just the word 'meristem' made him want to puke.

He laid his head on the table before the chance to smash his head face-first into the desk due to drowsiness presented itself.

_Boring, boring, boring. _

Again and again, he scribbled the words on the desk, disregarding the fact that he was now a vandal. It was certainly more fun than learning about instars.

~ 逢 ~

He exhaled silently, feeling extremely bored. His gaze trailed to where he had written his very profound opinion on his lecturer's class yesterday.

_Boring, boring, boring. _

**_I'm assuming that you got Professor Talk-a-lot as your Biology teacher too. If it's any consolation, I share your sentiments exactly. _**

**… _And so do the other few hundred that have to learn about Sigmoid growth curves._**

He stared for a while at the words that had certainly not been there yesterday, before he picked up a pencil and started to write back.

~ 逢 ~

_A fellow sufferer? To be honest, I'd rather be doing a math marathon than sitting here._

_**So you're a math major? I'm doing history**. _

_Isn't that equally boring?_

**_Not really. I actually hate numbers. They make me PMS too often._**

_So you're a girl?_

**_That's what it says on my birth certificate. So, yes, I guess I am. Are you a boy?_**

_That's what everyone tells me. So, yeah, that's my guess. Would you like to meet up sometime?_

**_No, I don't think so. It's not that I have anything against you, but I'm not comfortable with that notion, seeing as that I barely know you._**

_Ah. Playing hard to get, I see. Should I impress you with my infallible pickup lines?_

**_Not really. I've never done so in my entire life. As for the pickup lines, give it your best shot. I'd like to see what you can come up with; something original, hopefully._**

_Hmmm… I'm sure I have something remarkable in my repertoire of greetings. What about this? "Honey, you're sweeter than pi."_

**_Are you being serious?_**

"_If you were sin__^2__ x and I was cos^__2 __x, then together we'd make one."_

**_Not the trigonometry, please. I beg you._**

"_I'm not being obtuse, but you're acute girl."_

**_Please don't tell me that these are all your patented creations._**

"_What's your sine?"_

**_You're joking, right? Please tell me that you're joking. Why don't you try another subject?_**

"_My name is Bond. Covalent Bond."_

**_Oh my goodness…_**

_What is with this electronegativity?_

**_Please stop ruining chemistry. I never liked it in the first place._**

"_Since distance equals velocity multiplied by time, let's let velocity and time approach infinity, because I want to go all the way with you."_

**_You're trying to spoil physics now? That was my best science subject! And don't you even dare start with biology, unless you want to die a painful and horrible death._**

_You're a hard person to impress, aren't you?_

**_No, you're just really bad at awing me. Besides which, there's only ever one thing that you need to say when meeting someone. _**

_And what's that?_

~ 逢 ~

It had been more than a few days since she had replied, and the table didn't hold any new messages. He looked up as a girl in a yellow sundress stood in front of him.

"I assume that you're the one who's been conversing with me," she said. He nodded dumbly, mesmerized by her jade-green eyes. She smiled at him. "Have you figured out how to greet a girl yet?" He shook his head, to which she laughed. "You really don't know?"

"No," he replied. "How?" he asked, truly curious.

"You say 'hello', of course!" she explained cheerfully.

He stared at her momentarily, before smiling. "Then, hello," he greeted.

She grinned at him. "Hello."

* * *

><p>"And, kids," Arthur said to his children, Amy and Dan, who were currently sitting on his lap, "that was how I met your mother."<p>

* * *

><p>AN: I do not own any of the phrases in this piece. None! I found it on the internet. And honestly, I don't even know which is worse: the fact that people actually use those lines, or the fact that I actually understand all of them.

I used subjective personal pronouns a lot in this ficlet, but that's _intentional_. Why? It's simply because I felt like it. :D (Okay, I admit it! I was feeling lazy. XD) And yes, I know that this idea is cliche. I just felt like writing it anyway. And yes, this is AU-ish. :) Oh, and by the way, _sin x and cos x_ were both supposed to be to the power of two, or as MS Word calls it, in superscript. But even though supports kanji, it can't read mathematical signs. It wouldn't even let me write _pi_ as a symbol. Bah! :( So I wrote it according to how I use my calculator instead.

I didn't beta this very thoroughly, because I am so tired nowadays. So if you catch some mistakes, feel free to tell me.

I shall be back someday. :D Hopefully. ^o^


	13. Yellow: Jealousy

**_Yellow: Jealousy_**

* * *

><p>Ian gritted his teeth in frustration as he saw that awful git inch closer and closer towards Amy. He could practically see the malicious glint in the man's eyes, the burning desire of passion emanating in waves from his body. Why, that horny-looking fool practically radiated the aura of a pervert.<p>

It took all of Ian's willpower to not storm up there and lay a few punches on that _thing_; that horrendous excuse of a man. And it should be noted that Ian thought that the moniker 'that horrendous excuse of a man' was far too good for the person in question and far too unsatisfying for the likes of Ian.

He just didn't like the fact that there was another man that Amy liked. And yes, Ian could tell that she liked him judging by the way that they were laughing like friends. Ian thought that only he should be able to make her laugh like a giddy schoolgirl. Why, he prided himself on the fact that he could make her go weak in the knees.

Of course, Ian wasn't jealous. He was a Kabra, for Napoleon's sake. He had his pride after all. He was dignified; a person of high class and high moral ground. He didn't know the meaning of the word jealous. It just didn't exist in his vocabulary. Ian Kabra, jealous? Pfft. As if.

So why did he feel as though the green-eyed monster was slowly creeping up on him, driving him to the brink of insanity and contaminating his thoughts with utter abhorrence for that horrendous excuse of a man? It just didn't make any sense. After all, it was just Amy. Sure, he had feelings for Amy but it wasn't as though he was carrying a torch for her. Ergo, there could only be one feasible explanation.

He wanted to _protect_ her from that horrendous excuse of a man who shall now have the acronym TEOAM because Ian's moniker for him was just too much hassle. Yes, that theory made bucket- loads of sense. Ian had decided that Amy was such an innocent and naïve girl who needed someone to watch over her. After all, this was the same girl who had actually trusted him, Ian Kabra in the clue hunt. That just proved how gullible she was. Not that her faith in him didn't make him happy, but it was a truth universally acknowledged that Kabras were just not the ones you should ever put your faith in. Not to mention that Ian had actually felt remorseful after betraying Amy's trust; he did have a soft spot for her, after all.

And it was the same soft spot for her that told him that it was his duty to protect her from the Machiavellian people of the world because he just _knew_ that Amy needed help in that department. And with this newfound sense of responsibility, Ian quickly marched up to TEOAM before any— God forbid!—_romancing_ could happen.

"Leave," he hissed at TEOAM, earning an alarmed look from Amy. TEOAM glared at him stubbornly. "_Now_. Before I turn you into….." He trailed off in a most emotionless baritone voice as he waved his hand vaguely, leaving the rest up for interpretation. TEOAM, who was obviously not as stupid as Ian had made him out to be, got the message and hurriedly scampered off like a scared rabbit.

Ian felt a tap on his shoulder. "What was that for?" Amy demanded.

And by some catastrophic event, Ian, who was regarded to be as smart as a supercomputer, suddenly had a vocabulary that was _very_ limited. "I-I was just…"

Good Lord in the heavens above, he was stuttering.

_Stuttering. _

He never stuttered. That was usually a task that Amy excelled at. Now, it was as though their roles had been reversed. Amy had the most confident look on her face, as though she had been born to make Ian's life miserable to the nth degree. And she had, in fact, without her knowledge, been doing that for the past few months of Ian's life seeing as that she was forever haunting his thoughts and dreams. There was even a dream which pictured Ian as a happy Mr. Cahill, not that that piece of information was going to be released to the rest of the world anytime soon. Ian was adamant about taking it to the grave, thank you very much.

"What was that for?" She asked again, seeing as that Ian was in his own wonderland judging by his misted eyes.

By the grace of his Cahill ancestors and a heaven-sent miracle from God, Ian found his voice again. "He was flirting with you."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "He's Nellie's boyfriend."

'_Oh. Well that explains their chumminess,' he thought to himself._

Ian cleared his throat. "I had no idea."

Amy smiled at Ian or rather, she grinned like a Cheshire cat. Ian cursed her intelligence for her ability to catch on to things quick. "I see. So you weren't you by any chance—oh, I don't know— jealous?" He didn't answer. Her jade eyes twinkled with mirth. "You know, they say jealousy is a sign of love. Do you love me perhaps?"

Ian narrowed his eyes. Okay, so he was a teensy bit jealous. So he did in fact, love her. But this was the last straw. His pride had been battered and bruised for long enough. He couldn't take anymore of her silently laughing at him, tormenting him in his every waking moment.

Kabras are _never_ laughed at. She had made enough of a fool of him when she had first started popping up in his mind. He had to do something to rectify this situation and fast.

So he kissed her. And did that ever stop her silent giggles. It even stopped all that emotional torture he kept going through because of her. It even halted that annoying feeling of jealousy. Better yet, it completely rejuvenated his pride. If you could recall, it was the one that got shredded into pieces when he actually realized that yes, he had feelings and he was jealous over Amy? Well, that was in tip-top shape once more.

Ian chided himself mentally.

He should have done this a long time ago.

* * *

><p>AN: I was actually writing a drabble-esque thing about Jonah but I got stuck. (I blame it on the fact that I've never written about him before.) And then, I found this finished piece in my pendrive which I wrote a few months back but never posted. It was supposed to be the first chapter of a multichap fic called "Of Emotions and Reactions" which chronicled certain moments in various characters' lives. And as some of you might know, I basically swore to not write multi-chap fics again around that time, which was probably why I completely forgot about this.

I got a kick out of reading this. It was fun seeing how much my writing changed and to a certain extent, stayed the same. I don't know if anyone else will agree, but I do know for a fact that this particular style is very _me_. I don't know how to explain it, but I think this, in essence, is my real writing when I'm left to my own devices; it's flippant (like me) and reminds me of my Commonwealth essay last year. I sort of like it. :D

Free (virtual) cookies to anyone who noticed even the slightest smidgen of Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice". (I used the first few words from the first sentence, though I did change the tense, i.e. "is" to "was".) If you don't know what I'm talking about, ignore me. :D


	14. Green: Hair Pins

**_Green: Hair pins_**

* * *

><p>Pink and sparkly. Blue and striped. Yellow and floral. Red and polka-dotted. Black and bejewelled.<p>

If there was anything at all that we had in common, it would surely be our love for hair accessories. We both had at least three boxes each of them, filled to the brim with a plethora of bands, ties and pins.

I wondered if you remember how we met. Harrods was having a spectacular sale, and we both bickered over the last pair of star-patterned hair pins. We pulled each other's hair (even though yours was always nicer than mine). We were shoving and throwing tantrums, to the point where my parents and yours had to intervene. We reached a compromise and ended up sharing it. That was the beginning of our camaraderie.

I wondered if you remember how we used to sit in my patio and do each other's hair. We would bring stacks and stacks of magazines filled with photos of the latest coiffures that hit the runways of Paris and Milan, and attempt to recreate them. Once, we even piled our hair into beehives. (You still looked amazing, though.) The memory of stealing a pair of chopsticks from your kitchen was one of the better moments we had as friends.

I wondered if you remember when we went trick-or-treating for Halloween during Grade Four. We both dressed up as queens; you as Cleopatra (a better looking version, at that), and I as Marie Antoinette. We spent hours and hours primping in front of my mirror. In the end, we both just stayed at my house and watched television for the whole night, because you kept fussing around with your asp-shaped crown so much that we missed all the celebrations.

I wondered if you remember when I dyed my hair black (just like yours) and went into a gothic Lolita frenzy. You laughed and said that I looked completely ridiculous. I feigned indifference and I told you that I was simply being influenced by the Gothic novels I practically devoured daily. In truth, I was hurt (because I wasn't trying to copy anyone but you).

I wondered if you remember when we went to our school formal together. Your voluminous, silky tresses were pulled back into a classy chignon, while mine was let loose (as always, to hide my hideous face when I was standing next to you). The tendrils of your jet-black hair practically bounced up and down with ecstasy when you were crowned what Americans would call a prom queen. As our teacher placed the tiara on your head, my eyes couldn't help but be glued to the sight of your beautiful locks. And it struck me that I would give so much to have hair like yours.

I wondered if you remember when we went for our university graduation. Your hair emanated in soft waves, held back with a simple Japanese hairband, making you look like the epitome of chic (something that I would never be). I marvelled at it so, because next to you, my mousy, straw-like locks would not even catch the eye of a bird wanting to make a nest. That was also when you met him, the man that you would marry one day.

I wondered if you remember when you got married at Hyde Park. In an elegant gown of ivory silk, you looked absolutely stunning, to say the least. Having been your friend for so many years, you had asked me to style your mane for the wedding. I had been with you for long enough to know that you had always had a mean streak in you, but this was just downright cruel.

Because you knew that I held feelings for the man you were about to marry, for so long. Was it not enough that my feelings were unrequited? Was it not enough that I was to be your bridesmaid for your ceremony? Was it not enough to make me suffer throughout the years with your gloating prowess that always managed to make me feel so worthless?

No. Of course not, because you would never settle for making anyone around you feeling anything less than like dirt. Because you would never settle for making me feel even more hideous than I already felt. Because you had to lord your superiority in everything—even your hair— over me.

I hid my tears behind a facade of forced happiness, as I pinned a veil of lace onto your head. And though I hated to admit it so much, the fact of the matter was that your hair looked far more beautiful in it than I ever would. And I realized that it has never been about your hair at all.

Because the truth was that you would always look far more beautiful than I ever would.

But I am so sick of feeling ugly all the time. I am so tired of feeling like nothing, as though my existence is misted over with a veil of fog when I am next to you. I am so exhausted by this relationship. And I am so weary of you. And I cannot help but hate your tresses the most.

Hair pins brought us together, but not even a million of them can piece back the remnants of our cut ties.

* * *

><p>AN: My hairband broke. *sobs* (A pox on you, Sinma, for making low quality items!)

Why are all my weddings angsty? Someone tell me to stop, please. (Actually, I think I do know why they're always angsty. It's because most of the weddings my parents drag me to don't have nice food and are done in the soaring heat. And they're full of people. I don't like people. Or rather, I like a select few, but hate crowds.)


	15. Black: Tinted Lenses

_**Tinted Lenses**_

* * *

><p>Light.<p>

He hates it so much, to the point where he will be ecstatic if the world is cloaked in darkness.

He cares not for it and he never has. The thought of wanting to live in the light is an incomprehensible one in his mind. And he can't help but think that his brother is the lucky one.

Light has become the bane of his life. Head-splitting migraines plague him every single day, and it feels like someone is hammering a nail into the side of his cranium; sometimes, it strikes him as a searing sensation. Other times, it is as though a murderer is stabbing his head, and his thoughts subsequently go through homicide.

He will give so much to cover the Sun, to live in its eclipse, to stay forever in a shadow's silhouette. He wishes so much for a black world.

But the fact of the matter is that light is everywhere he goes and torments him daily. He runs and runs without stopping, until his ragged breathing and the sound of his heavy footsteps are imprinted in his mind's eye. He wants so much to escape it, stumbling through the light to find darkness. He doesn't know where he's going; he only knows that it has to be somewhere away from here. All he wants is to immerse himself in the opaque waters of darkness and to let his soul drown in its majestic glory. Though he is starting to get weary, he keeps running.

He must escape.

It is his reality.

* * *

><p>Light.<p>

He craves for it every second of the day and will be ecstatic if the world is bathed in light.

He loves it so much; he always has. The longing to live in darkness is one that is unfathomable to him, and he knows that his brother got the better end of the deal.

Now, it has become the bane of his life as well. He squints, he peers, and he blinks, yet he still sees nothing no matter how much he tries. It is akin to a game of hide-and-seek.

But how do you seek without sight?

He will give so much to have even a pinprick of light flood his world, to stand before the magnificence of the Sun, to have sunlight dance on his eyelids at sunrise, to live in a place without shadows. He wishes so much for a white world.

But darkness follows him everywhere, like a faithful puppy that doesn't want to abandon its owner, no matter how much effort he puts into getting rid of it. He keeps running, stumbling through the darkness to find the light, though it does little to present itself to him. He doesn't know where he's going either, but he too knows he just has to get away. His deepest desire is to immerse himself into the light and to let his soul bathe in its majestic glory. Though he knows that he has a long way to go, for he knows that his most wanted element is eluding him, he does not stop.

He must escape.

This is his reality.

* * *

><p>Light.<p>

She's in a love-hate relationship with it. She will be ecstatic if the world is rid of both light and darkness.

She's indifferent to it and always has been. The thought of wanting to live in either element is something she doesn't understand.

Because she knows that none of them are the lucky ones.

It has become the bane of her life as well. In the light, all of her imperfections are showcased to the world, but in darkness, they are perfectly concealed. But she also knows that without light, she cannot search for her brothers' cures. Problems arise with either element, and she knows that her brothers are grappling with the concept; one is descending even further into the abyss of dark depression while the other is obsessed with soaring into the sky of bright hope.

She will do so much to give them both their hearts' deepest desires, to live in twilight or dawn when neither light nor darkness is overbearing. She loves balance and wishes so much for a grey world.

But she is simply stuck in the middle, in the thresholds of both light and darkness, in the crux of their juxtaposition. She cannot choose either element, because how can she choose between her brothers? At a loss of what to do, she just watches. She watches silently from the sidelines, a spectator to the cruel game of cat and mouse her brothers are in. And she wishes that she can thrust both the elements together to form the perfect mix or even run away from both. Though she wishes she could, she knows that she must save her brothers first.

They must all escape.

She doesn't want anyone to see her tears for fears because she is supposed to be the strong one here. And she can't help but feel that this is all her fault, so she sinks into the depths of her despair, letting dry tears fall from her eyes as her body finally surrenders to her heart. She sobs silently, because real tears do not escape the eyes and wet the face; they come from the heart and bathe the soul. Her soul drowns in sorrow, as she becomes eaten up by guilt and paralyzed by her insecurities.

Because she has failed them once and does not want to do it again.

Her heart screams in the face of reality.

.: But what is reality, other than the light seen through tinted lenses? :.

* * *

><p>AN: I wrote this when studying light in Physics, because I was up to my ears in exam angst; it has no connection whatsoever to the Madrigals' prompt challenge.


End file.
